Sheogorath's Fanfic
by Walks-in-Shadows
Summary: Post SI questline. Sheogorath wants people to know the Him after Him, so He posts His story on a rival fanfic website. Follow up to Tributes to the Madgod. OMC Sheogorath. Crackfic.


Sheogorath's Fanfic.

"Haskill, I'm going to write a fanfic," Sheogorath announced one day.

"A fanfic, my Lord?" Haskill asked, startled. _What_, in Oblivion, was a fanfic?

"Yes, a fanfic. I have enough fans, wouldn't you say?" the umbric Argonian enquired.

"I wouldn't know, my Lord," Haskill intoned.

"Well, I do. I have loads of them and I've been reading what they've been writing about Me. I must say, some of what they claim I say is horrifying indeed! Listen to this: 'I'm so happy, I could just tear out your intestines and strangle you with them!' Have you ever heard Me say _that_, Haskill?" the vampiric Madgod demanded with a grimace.

"The You before You often said that in the past, my Lord," Haskill was forced to confess.

"Exactly, in the past! It's not like I say things like that _now_, is it?"

"No, my Lord. Your utterances _have _been rather less violent of late. Although I always did enjoy that one about plucking out people's eyes. They never knew if You meant it or not. Oh, and when the other You asked You to donate Your brain to make a brain pie with -"

Sheogorath broke in, "Yes, well, that was the old Sheogorath. It's time for the new Sheogorath to write _His_ story, then post it on the internet."

"The internet, my Lord?"

"Yes. Maybe I can post it on Neoseeker, and I should definitely post it on Archive of Our Own."

Haskill shook his head, utterly baffled. The internet? Archive of Our Own? Neoseeker? Oh well, maybe it was just another of Sheogorath's delusions like the one about having lots of fans repeating the violent things that He… no, His predecessor had said in the past, or the one about being the head of every guild in Cyrodiil, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, and the Grand Champion of the Imperial City Arena. Oh well, Sheogorath would forget about this thing soon enough. His delusions _were_ generally short-lived.

- Two Weeks Later -

"Haskill!" Sheogorath's raspy voice came roaring through the Palace. "Haaaaskiiiiiiill!"

"Yes, my Lord?" intoned Haskill as he popped into view beside the frustrated Madgod.

"Where were you two weeks ago?" the Argonian asked, wildly twitching his tail with impatience.

"My Lord?" Haskill was confused.

"Well, I can't write this thing Myself, it wouldn't be fitting. I need a ghostwriter!"

"A ghostwriter, my Lord?"

"Yes, a ghostwriter! And I've selected _you_ for the job."

"Will I end up on the Hill of Suicides, my Lord?" asked Haskill, worriedly.

"What are you talking about, Haskill?"

"Well, my Lord, ghosts are generally dead, are they not? If I have to commit suicide -"

Sheogorath snorted impatiently. "Noooo!" he rasped, "A ghostwriter is someone who writes for somebody else under the other person's name! You really should get the internet; it's amazing what you can learn from Google."

Haskill didn't even bother to ask, his head was spinning far too rapidly from all the things Sheogorath knew that he didn't. Really! He, Haskill, was supposed to be the one that his Lord got His answers from, not this 'Google' person!

"So," Sheogorath continued, not letting up, "I need you to write about all the things I've done since I took over, every word the truth, and post the result on the internet as fanfic with My name on it as the author."

"Yes, my lord," Haskill said. At least he wasn't being asked to speak to that 'Google' person on this 'internet' thing, and maybe some time spent quietly writing would soothe his fractured nerves. "I'll get started on it now," he said as he faded from view.

- One Month Later -

Haskill popped into view in front of the Madgod seated on His throne and declared, "My Lord, it is finished."

"What's finished?" Sheogorath almost snarled. He had been experimenting with leading the Mazken and the Aureals down the Golden Road, and He wasn't best pleased with Haskill's interruption.

"The fanfic you asked for, my Lord," Haskill intoned.

"I asked you for that six weeks ago!"

"No, my Lord. You asked me to write it _four _weeks ago. It was six weeks ago that You originally declared You wanted one to be written."

"But you couldn't take the hint! _That's_ why I had to explicitly ask you four weeks ago."

"I apologise for that, my Lord."

"Well, anyway, how long is it?"

"Thirty-nine chapters, my Lord."

"Doesn't that seem rather a lot?"

"Well, You have done a great many things since You took over the running of the realm, my Lord. There's a chapter about Your requests for things which are impossible to obtain as tributes, a chapter describing how You banned all cheese except that made from the milk of Argonians, and Your plan of curing Your subjects before leading them back down the Golden Road took up two chapters all by itself."

"Yes, I _am_ brilliant, aren't I, Haskill?" asked Sheogorath, extremely pleased with Himself. It seemed, to Him, that He was as good as the previous Sheogorath on most aspects of ruling the Shivering Isles, but on others He actually superseded the one who had once been Jyggalag.

Haskill ignored the obviously rhetorical question. Instead, he asked, "So, my Lord, is there anything else You wish to know?"

Sheogorath said, "No, I'll read it through later and figure out the themes and rating then. Oh, wait. Is there any squee?"

"Squee, my Lord?"

"Yes, things that the fans know about Me that will make them squeal with recognition and excitement when they read them."

"I doubt it, my lord. According to what You've said, Your fans only know Your predecessor, and You did ask that this fanfic be written about You."

"Well, can you add anything to make the readers squeal?"

"Only if I write things that You don't say as if You do say them, my Lord, and You did ask me to write nothing but the truth."

"Well, post it anyway, Haskill. I'm sure the fans will want to read what I've written and will give it good reviews," Sheogorath smiled.

"_I_ post it, my Lord?" Haskill thought he was going to be sick. This delusion had already carried on too long, and now it was going too far! It was time to inject a little reality into the situation. As much as he loved the lizard-like humanoid and hated to hurt His feelings, he knew that Sheogorath would suffer a far more serious psychic injury if His madness wasn't dealt with before it got too critical.

"My Lord," the Breton said, gently, "there's no such thing as the internet. There's no such person as Google, no such thing as Neoseeker, and Archive of Our Own is just something You created in Your mind along with fanfic and the fans who read it."

Sheogorath listened to all this in amazement, and then burst into raspy peals of laughter. "Google isn't a _person_, Haskill," He exclaimed, "it's an online search engine! Look, I'll show you."

He took Haskill into the quarters that He'd received when He had become the Duke of Dementia and explained everything about the computer there, as well as explaining everything about the internet and how it worked. After a few hours, Haskill was busily typing away and surfing the web as though he had done it all his life.

- Another Week Later -

Sheogorath sat in the Duke of Dementia's quarters and read the reviews His story had generated, getting more and more depressed with each one. One reviewer had written that Sheogorath sounded more like Malacath than Himself, and another had seen fit to point out that Argonians aren't mammals and so don't produce milk, which was the point that the Argonian vampire had had in mind when He'd introduced His ban.

"Haskiiiiill!" He rasped at the top of His lungs.

Haskill popped into view a second afterward.

"My Lord, what seems to be the problem?" he enquired.

"Haskill, look at these reviews, they're all flames!" complained Sheogorath.

"Yes, well, not every writer can expect good reviews from their first story, my Lord," Haskill explained.

"But you're the one who wrote it," Sheogorath pointed out, "so you fix it."

"I cannot, my Lord. Those reviews can only be changed by the site admin at the request of their respective authors, so are there to stay. Could You not use Your magic to fix it?"

"My magic won't work outside of My realm, you know that! I remember trying to summon you when I was in Skingrad. It was a miserable failure."

"Then I am afraid that You will have to live with the story and the reviews as they are, my Lord."

"No, I won't. I'll take the story down and never post it again! See to it, Haskill, will you? The reviews can't be seen if the story can't be linked to."

Haskill refrained from pointing out that _he_ had been the one to post the story under the Madgod's instructions. He really didn't want to risk turning his Ruler's anger, frustration, and resentment onto himself.

"And another thing," Sheogorath added, "I'm never going to follow one of your ideas ever again! They're obviously not as good as Mine."

Copyright © 2011 Romersa's Protégé. Individuals and groups are free to copy and share this work for non-commercial purposes. All other rights reserved.


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